


The Nesting Habits of Penguins Goalies

by VelvetPaw



Category: Hockey RPF, Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Animal Traits, Bonding, Goalie Nesting (Hockey RPF), Goalies, Goalies Are Weird, M/M, Nesting, Nesting Goalies, Psychic Bond, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:56:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetPaw/pseuds/VelvetPaw
Summary: There were some things everyone in the NHL just knew: Goalies were weird. Goalies nested as an odd form of team bonding since they didn’t share liney bonds or d-pair bonds. And nesting goalies were twice as weird as usual. Change is in the air this nesting season for the Penguins.





	The Nesting Habits of Penguins Goalies

**Author's Note:**

> First, huge thanks to some very special folks: for beta reading (Thanks, Batik!), French translations & proofreading (Merci beaucoup, Naughty!) and for lending her goalie fashion expertise (Thanks, VelvetNightmare!)--this story is so much richer for their contributions.
> 
> A note on the French: There is a long conversation in the middle of the story between Flower and Kris that should undoubtedly be in French, but rather than tax the good nature of my translator, I've opted to leave it in English.

There were some things everyone in the NHL just knew: Goalies were weird. Goalies nested as an odd form of team bonding since they didn’t share liney bonds or d-pair bonds. And nesting goalies were twice as weird as usual.

While every goalie’s nesting habits were as unique as the players themselves, there were some typical signs that a goalie was about to nest. Most got extra territorial around their net during practices and downright scarily possessive during games. Many of them went non-verbal, finding it difficult to communicate in words with the haze of mating and nesting clouding their minds — although they still made their desires known with stick “taps”, grunts, and growls. But what really made the whole process dramatic (read: entertaining and gossip-worthy to the rest of the league) was that the goalies’ personality quirks came to the fore; you literally never knew what might happen.

For example, when Lunqvist started to nest, he took over the locker room’s sound system and played classical music and woe betide the unlucky rookie who complained or tried to change the music. His nesting box, a small room to which only the starting goalie and his back-up had the key, was rumored to be filled with silk and velvet and the highest thread-count sheets it was possible to buy. Whispers said that the lube he demanded had to be imported from Europe.

Kris had always thought the Pens got off lightly with Flower. His nesting season always started with sharp, fierce grins and extra hard taps to anyone who got too near his net. Everyone knew the season was officially under way when he started hoarding pucks and other things that fell into his net during practices. Water bottles, broken sticks, dropped gloves and, on one memorable occasion, Coach’s whistle — if it got close enough that Flower could scoop it into his net, it was his until he chose to give it back. Kris had teased him that his magpie tendencies came shining through when he nested, but Flower always flashed his impish grin and replied that he was no mere bird, but a dragon with his hoard.

How goalies chose their nesting partners was the subject of much debate in the bars after a couple beers. Some chose friends or captains, a few chose rookies or, inexplicably, one game call-ups; a few very difficult goalies demanded their favored nesting partner even after they’d been traded away. The thought of Gary Bettman having to arrange entire NHL schedules around Carey Price’s need to have P.K. with him for nesting season always made Kris grin secretly. Some goalies had a single partner they nested with every year, others chose a different partner every season. When asked, to a man, the goalies smiled and said, “They just feel right.”

For players, spending a nesting season with a goalie was something of an honor. It wasn’t about looks or talent, but those singled out usually proved to be special to the team or pivotal in a way that might not yet be obvious. When asked about it, most players got a secretive little smile on their faces. Kris knew from experience that being the focus of an already intense goalie was something to remember — having someone so totally focused on his pleasure … he shivered a little bit at the memory.

“Hey, man, did you hear about Hellebuyck?” Brian Dumoulin’s gleeful question startled Kris out of his thoughts.

Kris resumed putting on his pads, getting ready for practice. “No. What’s up with Winnipeg and why would we care? We don’t play them for another month.”

Dumo chuckled as he patted his own pads into place. “You’ll get a kick out of this. Last night they played Toronto and apparently Hellebuyck’s nesting season started. Midway through the third, Marner literally crashed the net, winding up in the goal. Hellebuyck refused to let him out, huddling in his crease and tapping Marner back into place with his twig whenever he tried to leave. The refs tried to get him out, but Hellebuyck swatted at them whenever they got too close. Marner finally tried to push the net off its moorings and sneak out the back, but Connor refused to let him go, backing him into a corner and holding off every attempt by players or officials to get close. It was a total shitshow.” Dumo laughed.

Kris felt the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. He hid it by pulling on his jersey. “So what happened? How did they finally get him out?” he asked when he emerged from the folds of the fabric.

Dumo rolled his eyes but continued his story enthusiastically. “They finally had to let his back-up goalie, Brossiot, out on the ice to talk him out of the corner, but he refused to leave without Marner. Looks like Mitchy is going to be spending his nesting period in Winnipeg. They issued on-ice penalties to Winnipeg for game delay and failing to notify for a nesting goalie, and Hellebuyck got a game misconduct. Still didn’t help Toronto, though. Matthews was so upset at losing his boy that he was more of a liability than an asset on the power play. Management, of course, lost their fucking minds.”

Kris grinned, shark-like, as he stood to pull on his gloves and grab his stick. Anything that fucked with management couldn’t be all bad. “Let me guess,” he said. “The media can’t stop talking about trade possibilities and speculating on what this will mean for the Leafs’ season?”

“Got it in one,” Dumo smiled back. “Winnipeg media can’t help gloating about the possibilities, which is only adding fuel to the fire.”

“Eh, well, not that we’ll need it, but if Toronto is still in a collective uproar when we get there next week,” Kris offered a very unsympathetic Gallic shrug, “maybe we can send Hellebuyck a fruit basket.”

Brian laughed again and followed him out onto the ice.

************************

“Guess that means Murrs won’t be far behind, huh?” Chad Ruhwedel noted as the team discussed the latest in the on-going Hellebuyck-Marner saga while they waited in the hotel lobby for the bus to come and take them to the airport for their flight to Toronto.

“Will be soon now,” Geno agreed, barely looking up from his tablet.

“Who do you think he’ll pick this year?” Jake Guentzel asked.

“He chooses a different partner every season?” Derek Brassard looked intrigued.  He’d missed both nestings last year, so the Pen’s goalies’ traditions were new to him.

“Yeah, that’s been the pattern so far anyway,” Phil Kessel answered. “So far he’s stuck to d-men, too.”

Derek looked glum at that news.

Carl Hagelin ticked them off on his fingers. “First season it was Dumo, then Olli. The following year was Pouliot and Hainsey?” He looked around for confirmation before continuing at Geno’s nod. “Last year was Cole and Schultzy, wasn’t it?”  

“Yeah,” Justin Schultz answered, as his teammates nudged him and grinned at his dopey smile.

“That good, huh?” Jack Johnson teased.

“Play your cards right and maybe you can find out,” Schultzy offered with an over-the-top leer, complete with wiggling eyebrows.

Bryan Rust flopped down on the sofa next to Jack, punching him in the shoulder. “I got money on you man, don’t let me down,” he said.

“I’m betting on Oleksiak this year,” Patric Hornqvist opined, setting off a flurry of bets and speculation.

Kris listened as the team continued to speculate but didn’t offer any of his own opinions. Flower had used his nestings to build the core — first Sid, then him, followed by Geno, then Kuni and Sid again. Over time the nestings served as a special bond, cementing and solidifying the core in a way that was unique and powerful and exceedingly good for their hockey. Kris wasn’t sure what Murrs was doing with his choice, but it hadn’t hurt the team so he didn’t much care one way or the other.

***************************

The first signs that Matt was getting nesty happened during practice before the Vancouver game. His usual zen calm moved from quiet to silent, the laser-focused stare following teammates around the room whenever they happened to catch his attention. Kris could practically feel him evaluating and dismissing the various possibilities.

On the ice, Matt played much farther out of the net than usual, silently snarling and batting at players who got too close. He seemed less concerned about protecting the net from pucks and more about defending it against the players themselves. When they — cautiously — lined up for shooting drills, Matt started growling and shooting the pucks already surrounding his net back at the players; it turned into an odd game of Last Man Standing with Sid declaring anyone who got hit by the puck “out.” Matt surprised a lot of the younger guys with his hard shots and his pinpoint accuracy, knocking them out before they even knew what hit them.

Kris narrowed his eyes as he watched Matt tick off guys one by one. He was baring his teeth, in what might almost be a smile, sending playful shots toward some and lasers at others. The more Kris observed, the more he was sure he was watching Murrs’ nesting version of flirting. To test his theory, he skated in on a relatively easy trajectory, giving Matt a clear shot at him. Matt batted down his shot on net but barely swiped a puck in his direction. Kris laughed aloud when he realized Murrs had used his approach as kind of a screen, setting up his next puck so that the second Geno got the shooting puck, he fired off a shot, hitting Geno’s skate blade and knocking him out — garnering loud complaints of cheating from G.

When the coaches finally called an end to practice, Jarry spent long minutes coaxing Murray off the ice and into the locker room. The players gave the goalies a wide berth as they cleaned up and prepared to head back to the hotel for pre-game naps.

Matt was extra fidgety on the drive back, fingers tapping out a rhythm only he heard on the back of the seat in front of him, leg bouncing, head swiveling constantly between his various teammates. When they got to the hotel, everyone stayed in their seats, letting Jarry coax Matt off the bus first. The signs that Murray was stressed were clearly apparent to all.

Once the goalies cleared the bus, the team filed off less rambunctiously than normal.  Kris watched as Sid paused to have a few quiet words with the coaches before exiting.

“Anything we need to know?” Kris asked quietly as he caught up to Sid. Geno moved to his other side, listening in as well.

“We’re going to see if we can’t fly out tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow,” Sid told them. “Matt obviously needs to nest, and he can’t do it here. The sooner we get him home the better.  Jarry is getting the start tonight.”

Geno nodded. “Need our help for anything?”

“I’m going to go talk to Tristan. See if he knows what Matt usually uses to build his nests.  Maybe there’s something we can do to make him more comfortable,” Sid shrugged.

“If you need anything, Sid, you have only to ask,” Kris assured him as they made their way onto the elevators.

“Thanks, guys. I’ll let you know.” Kris watched Sid make his way down the hall to the goalies’ rooms, knocking quietly on one of the doors before slipping inside.

Thirty minutes later, just as he was about to slip into bed for his nap, Kris got a text from Sid that said, “Soft things. Pillows. Fluffy blankets?!” Kris snorted, thinking that the team might get a suspiciously large bill for stolen bedding this trip.

*****************************

The game that night wasn’t their finest, but it was still a win, so they’d take it. Jarry had been steady, holding the fort while his restless starter paced up and down the players’ corridor, protecting the bench and growling when people got too close. Kris had felt an almost electric tension filling the d-corps as the game went on, each of them doing their best to elevate their game — almost like they were showing off, trying to catch the eye of their starting goalie. Kris, himself, had not been immune, unable to resist looking over at Murray when he assisted Sid on a sweet little backhand goal. He looked away immediately when he noticed Murrs staring intently back.

The team was efficient, getting through media, cool-down, showers, and onto the bus as quickly as possible so they could head for the airport. The rookies’ grumbles were silenced quickly by glares from Sid or G. Kris sped through his own post-game routine and found himself watching as Jarry struggled to get Matt out of his pads before heading off for his shower. Tristan had managed to get Matt’s gloves, sweater and suspenders off, but Matt kept brushing him off irritably when he tried to undo the straps to his pants so that he could finish removing the chest protector.

Kris looked around to see if Sid and Geno were aware of the problem, but both appeared to be in the showers. Reluctantly he walked over. “Anything I can help with?” At his voice, Murray paused and looked up from where he’d been swatting at Tristan’s hands.

“Maybe just keep talking to him?” Tristan suggested as he finally got the belt undone. “He keeps taking swipes at me every time I try to remove a piece of his gear.” Tristan dodged again as Matt growled and batted at his head, trying to push him away.

“Hey! Hey, there, Matty,” Kris spoke soothingly as he took another step closer, trying to fix Matt’s attention on him. He reached out slowly and lifted Matt’s arm, opening straps and easing Matt’s arm from the pads. “Tristan’s just trying to help you out here. We’ve got to get you undressed so we can leave.” When Matt didn’t object he stepped around Tristan and repeated the process on the other arm. “You know we’re heading back to Pittsburgh tonight, right? We’re going back so you can settle in your nest properly.”

Matt emitted a pleased noise, somewhere between a coo and purr. It was a little odd, kind of gurgly, but it made Kris smile. “You like that, huh? Like the thought of getting home so you can nest properly? Got big plans this season, Matty?” Matt smiled back, turning his head slightly and offering his throat to Kris.

Kris’ jaw dropped in shock at the invitation, but before he could say or do anything—stupid or otherwise—Tristan lifted the chest protector over Matt’s head, ending the moment. Matt swung his gaze back to Tristan and narrowed his gaze, growling low and deep.

“Whoa! Hey there,” Tristan said backing away slowly, holding the pads up as a makeshift shield in front of him. “I’m not trying to steal your man.  He’s all yours.” Kris sucked in a sharp breath, causing Matt to focus on him again. Tristan waved a hand at the still mostly dressed starting goalie. “Sorry, Kris, think you’re gonna have to take it from here.” Kris scowled darkly at the back-up goalie as he scuttled across the locker room. He turned his frown toward Matt who was now visibly preening at having chased away his “rival.”

“J’suis entouré d’idiots! (I’m surrounded by idiots!)” Kris narrowed his eyes as he slowly knelt in front of Matt to start removing his leg pads. “And you, grand niaiseux (you big goof _)_ , knock it off with the preening. I’m not going to be your nesting partner.”

Matt looked down at him, with huge, soft eyes and made an inquisitive little humming sound. “No. You need to pick someone else. Bond with the younger guys, keep building up the baby d-men; they like it when their goalie singles them out, takes care of them. It makes them feel special, honored,” Kris’ voice trailed off as he remembered being picked by Marc-Andre for the first time. God, he’d been so flattered. He’d lingered on the ice after a practice, lazily shooting pucks at the other net just waiting for Flower to clear the ice so he and Gonch could safely work on a new defensive drill.

He’d been utterly surprised when Marc had started skating toward them, herding him off the ice like he was shifting to catch pucks, guiding him with first his stick and then his blocker. He’d been speechless when Marc finally cornered him against the boards, grinding hard against him and grunting, “Tu vas avoir l’air tellement chaud assis sur ma verge. (You’ll look so hot sitting on my dick.)”

There’d been no thought to decline; no thought at all, if he was being honest. He’d just let Marc push him off the ice and into his nesting box still in his practice gear.

Kris shook off the memory and finished undoing the straps on one leg of Matt’s pads before shifting to the other and starting the process all over again.

“You need to find someone else to nest with,” he repeated. Long fingers lightly tapped his cheek, but Kris refused to look up from his task. Kris dropped the second pad to the floor before going to work on the skate laces. Matt combed fingers softly through his still damp hair, but Kris continued to ignore him. “I think you should pick Jamie. He’s a nice guy and, with his new contract, he’s going to be here for a while.” Kris snorted as he fiddled with all the damn ties. “Maybe you’ll like being the shorter one for a change.”

Matt tried to lift Kris’ chin, but Kris ducked his head, refusing to look up as he tugged at the left skate, forcing Matt to steady himself with a hand on the stall.

“Ah, laisse faire si ça te tente pas. (Ah, let it go if you don’t feel like it.) If you don’t want Jamie, maybe Johnson. He’s a bit of an asshole, but, eh, hockey player.” Kris shrugged, dumping the first skate then moving to the second.

Kris knelt up to tug down Matt’s pants, but Matt grabbed a double handful of Kris’ hair, using his grip to tilt Kris’ face up toward his. When Kris’ eyes finally met his, he shook his head “no” very firmly, before pressing Kris’ face into his groin.

“Ark, arrête ça, man! C’est dégueulasse! (Ew, stop that, man! It’s disgusting!) Kris pulled away, pretending to be offended, before tugging Matt’s pants down and rolling back on his heels in one smooth move. He made quick work of Matt’s socks before pushing up from his kneeling position. “This is as far as I go. Gonna have to take it from here yourself or let Tris help you.”

Matt let out a pathetic growl but let Kris step away without further protest.

Tristan, stripped down and wearing only a towel, gave him a wide berth as he passed. “Thanks, man. I appreciate the help. I’ll make sure he’s all clean and ready for you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Kris frowned at Tristan’s back. “Worry about whoever his nesting partner will be.”

Tristan shot him a puzzled look over his shoulder as he led an unresisting Matt toward the showers. “Yeah,” Tristan said. “That’s what I said.”

“Tabarnak que j’suis mal foutu! (Goddamn, I’m so fucked!)” Kris muttered to himself as he watched them go.

A light bump on his shoulder drew his focus to back to Sid who stood next him smiling fondly. “So, looks like Matt has made his choice. About time he got around to bonding with his number one defenseman.”

When Kris didn’t say or do anything, Sid’s tone changed to an odd mix of concern and surprise. “You’re okay with this, right?”

“He needs to pick someone else. I don’t think I can do this.” Kris turned away to grab his own gear before heading to the bus.

Sid grabbed his shoulder, preventing him from walking away. “You’re going to turn down our starting goalie? What the fuck, man? You know how good this can be. It’s an honor to be chosen.”

“Fuck you, Sid! Maybe I’ve been honored enough.” Kris stomped from the room without a backward glance.

*****************************

When they boarded the plane, Kris started back to his usual seat near the rear of the aircraft.  Instead of the normal set-up for the card game, he found Sid, Geno, Haggy and equipment manager Dana Heinze unloading what looked like the entire Walmart bedding department. They had comforters, pillows and blankets of all shapes and sizes. Sid was holding up a particularly garish floral patterned pillow and making a WTF face while Dana defended his choice on the grounds that “It was soft, all right?!”

Kris took one look and headed for the front of the plane instead.

He studiously avoided everyone’s eyes, fiddling with his tablet and loading up the next movie in his queue. Even when an argument broke out — “No, Sid, need softest things on top!” “Since when did you become an expert on building a nest, Geno?” “My way best, Sid, move pillows down, blankets over!” — Kris refused to get involved. He put his earbuds in and resolutely focused on his movie while everyone else eventually headed for their seats and they finally let the goalies on the plane.

He pretended not to notice when Matt stopped in the aisle next to him, fidgeting from foot to foot and whining softly. He refused to look up at all when Tristan finally pushed Matt back toward the nest, literally forcing him down the aisle until Matt finally gave up with a sad little chirrup and let himself be manhandled down the corridor and into the makeshift nest in the back.

Kris finally relaxed once the plane was in the air, but the minute he took the earbuds out, he couldn’t help but hear the sad little sounds coming from the nest. He turned to stare out the window. Why couldn’t everyone understand that this was for the best?

Hockey bonds were common. Being intimate with your lineys or your d-partner was a time honored way to build rapport, create synchronicity. The mental bond gave you a better understanding of where they were ice and how they moved their bodies. Strong bonds gave you an off-ice connection as well, just a subtle, comforting presence in the back of your awareness that let you know your partner’s mood and physical health. The bond helped rookies with the loneliness of being away from their families for the first time and helped players cope when they suffered long-term injuries.

Goalie bonds, though, were another whole level of intimate. Goalies were unique in how they viewed the ice and the play so it was probably no surprise they bonded differently as well. Bonds with goalies were almost always strong; they didn’t create a telepathic link exactly, but the levels of non-verbal communication a pair could achieve went through the roof. Much the same way a couple who’ve been married for years were able to have entire conversations with a raised eyebrow or the tilt of a head, a goalie just knew his partner at a soul deep level.

Bonds with goalies heightened a defenseman’s protective instincts; knowing the person in the net made them precious, made you want to work that much harder to defend them. Marc always said having those bonds meant he didn’t feel so alone on the ice. It was affirming and supportive and comforting.

And it left a small, dark, empty space in your soul when it faded.

The sounds eventually ceased when Tommy, Rusty and Dumo headed for the back of the plane, presumably to comfort Murrs. Kris closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. This really was the best thing in the long run. For everyone.

It was late when the plane landed in Pittsburgh, and Kris was looking forward to going home and sleeping in his own bed. He put away his tablet and gathered up his stuff while the goalies were let off the plane first. Matt paused by his row again, and Kris looked up to see what the holdup was. Matt caught his eye and deliberately and obviously tilted his head, offering Kris his throat, a clear invitation to mate. Kris hastily looked down and away and, after a long moment, Matt and Tristan stumbled down the aisle. Kris heaved a mental sigh of relief. He looked around the plane to see who else might step up and take care of Murrs, but the guys studiously avoided his eyes, giving him a wide berth as they exited the plane.

“C’est pas mon osti d’problème! Y peut ben choisir quelqu’un d’autre! (It’s not my damn problem! He can damn well choose someone else!)” he muttered as he made his way to his car.

 *****************************

 They practiced the next day without Murray.  No one said anything to him, and Kris figured Matt had found a different partner. But no one else was missing from the mandatory practice except the couple guys who were rehabbing injuries, and Kris couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that the nesting fever hadn’t set in fully yet.

He skated over to Geno while they waited their turn at a drill. “So, who did Matt choose for his partner?”

Geno gave him a flat stare. “Why do you care? Not you, so not your problem.”

“C’mon, G. I wear the A, too. You know I care about the kid. I just don’t want to nest with him, with anybody.” Kris tried not to be annoyed that his teammates assumed he wouldn’t care simply because he didn’t want to create a new bond.

Geno’s laser gaze pinned him for a moment before he sighed heavily. “Made your choice, is okay. Is fine. You know what is best for you.” Geno pointedly turned back to watch the next guys running the drill. His next words were whisper soft, obviously meant only for Kris’ ears. “But not bonding with Matt won’t bring him back, Kris.” A sharp whistle put an end to the discussion as Geno joined the rush toward the net, skating hard and leaving Kris to catch up.

Kris refused to admit that the painful ache in his chest was caused by anything other than skating drills.

They finished practice, and Kris went to see the trainers about a small but persistent ache in his left shoulder. Coming back from the treatment room, he saw Sid leaving the nesting box, looking oddly sad.

“Everything okay, Sid?” Kris asked.

When he noticed Kris, Sid smoothed his features into his bland media mask, even forcing a tight smile. “For sure, nothing to worry about.”

“What’s going on with Matt? Is he having issues with his new partner?” Kris frowned.

“Oh, no. Nothing like that,” Sid assured him as he steered them down the hall and away from the nesting box.

“Good. So, who’d he choose? Was it Olli? I thought I saw him leave practice a little early?”

“No, he didn’t choose Olli.” Sid headed for the players’ dining room, making his way over to exchange a few quiet words with the chef.

Sid sat down at a table, obviously waiting for the chef to prepare his request. Kris sat with a huff, irritated that Sid wouldn’t just tell him what he needed to know. “So, who did he chose?” he asked finally.

Sid sighed in obvious irritation but finally gave in to Kris’ French-Canadian stubbornness. “Look, nesting is supposed to be about building team and forming connections. Matt was obviously hoping to form some kind of positive relationship with you, but no one can force that. So, just let it go. This doesn’t concern you anymore.” The weariness in Sid’s voice strongly encouraged him to drop it, but he found himself unable to do so.

Kris’ gaze raked over Sid, noticing for the first time Sid’s comfy, almost sloppy clothes, his messy hair, and the tired brackets around his mouth. “Did he choose you? Are you nesting with Matt?”

Sid’s eyes narrowed as he turned his full captain’s glare on Kris. “He chose you, Kris, and you rejected him. He doesn’t want anyone else. I offered, Geno offered … Hell, everyone else on the d-corps offered, but he’d rather spend his nesting alone than accept anyone else.”

“Maudite marde! (Damn, shit!)” Kris leaned back into his chair, shocked to his very core. Goalies never had to go through mating season alone; it was unheard of in the NHL. It just wasn’t done. “Is that even safe?” Kris asked.

Sid shrugged. “The doctors think he’ll be fine, physically.” A quick call from the chef drew Sid away from the table, leaving Kris alone with his thoughts. Kris raked clawed hands through his hair before resting his elbows on the table. He hated the thought of Matt alone, desperately needing a partner to care for him, but he just couldn’t.

*****************************

The next night they played the Capitals. Ovechkin was in rare form, firing shot after shot at poor Jarry and, inevitably, a number of them went in. The game got chippy in the third with Wilson talking trash at anyone who got within hearing distance. The final straw came on a face off when Wilson settled close to Kris.

“Noticed no one’s missing from your line-up tonight besides Murray. So what gives, Letang? He’s good enough to win you Cups, but not good enough to fuck? Or maybe you Frenchie boys can only get it up for each other.”

Kris never knew who won the face off because his gloves were off and he was swinging at Wilson before the puck hit the ice. When the refs finally separated them, Kris threw himself into the box, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as he sat for his five-minute fighting penalty. Just before his time was up, Oshie fired in the dagger, sealing the game for the Caps.

Kris stomped down the tunnel, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as he slammed into the dressing room, hurtling his gloves at his stall.

“Osti d’tabarnak de câlice! (Jesus fucking Christ!) _”_ He tore his sweater and pads off, flinging them, as well, knowing he was making a scene and not giving a fuck. The guys with stalls nearest him rapidly found other places they needed to be. He sat to undo his laces, swearing up a storm when he snapped one off. His hands shook with anger as he finally managed to slip the guards over the blades. Fucking nosy Caps! Kris was a professional; it was his job to protect his goalies on the ice, not coddle them through their nesting periods! If Kris chose not to be with another goalie, that no one else’s business.

Kris continued to fume as he grabbed his kit and made his way to the showers. Fuck Wilson anyway! He knew nothing about the situation, and he should learn to keep his ignorant fucking opinions to himself. Who Matt nested with, or didn’t, wasn’t any of his goddamn business. A small part of Kris’ brain reminded him that Matt hadn’t actually wanted to be alone, but he ruthlessly cut that thought off by sticking his head under the water and slathering shampoo on his hair.

Besides, he told himself, he’d done his part for this team already. It wasn’t like he hadn’t given everything for Marc. Their nestings had been so passionate, the bond created so tight; Kris was sure anything else would just be a pale imitation.

Tilting his face up into the spray, Kris gave himself permission to remember their first time:

Still dressed in their gear from practice, Marc had used his lanky but surprisingly muscular body to manhandle Kris into the nesting box. Once the door was closed behind them, Marc dropped his stick, tipped back his mask, and then, with a wicked grin, shook off his gloves. He bobbed and weaved a few times like he was avoiding punches before grabbing Kris by the jersey and dragging him deeper into the small room. It was cute and dorky, and Kris had to fight down a smile.

They stopped by a queen-size bed that was dressed simply in a black and gold Penguins’ comforter. Marc unstrapped Kris’ helmet and dropped it on the floor before cupping his face in unexpectedly gentle hands. Their eyes locked as Marc searched his expression for any signs of fear or hesitation. Kris offered a small half smile, and Marc slowly leaned in and kissed him. Kris expected the kiss to be hot and rough, but it was surprisingly soft and tender, an exploration rather than a ravishing. Marc pulled back from the kiss just long enough to purr, “J’vais t’manger tout rond, mon beau Kris. (I’m going to eat you whole, my gorgeous Kris.)” before taking Kris’ lips again, this time in a devouring kiss. It had been hot and messy, and Kris swore when he finally had to break it off because he needed to readjust the jock that was pinching his newly hard dick.

That spurred a frantic scramble to remove their gear. As Kris sat on the edge of the bed, down to nothing but his base layer, Marc had dropped gracefully to his knees and wedged himself between Kris’ thighs. He looked up through dark lashes just long enough to flash his mischievous grin before leaning in to breathe out heavily over Kris’ cock, the puff of air momentarily heating the sweat damp fabric of his crotch. Kris squirmed as goosebumps shivered down his spine. Leaning forward, Marc ran his hot, wet tongue slowly from his balls to the head of Kris’ cock, sucking hard through the fabric when he reached the tip.

“Oh, fuck!” Kris couldn’t stop the words as Marc continued to suck his cock through the soggy fabric. Reaching out, he buried his hands in Marc’s black, sweat-damp hair and pulled him closer. Kris could feel Marc’s smile as he turned and nipped sharply at one of Kris’ thighs.

“Ayoye! (Ow!)” Kris’ thighs sprang apart, away from the biting mouth, and the hands in Marc’s hair pulled him away instead of closer. Marc’s dark eyes met his as he grabbed Kris’ hands, pulled them out of his hair and set them firmly on the bed. With a solid push, indicating the hands were to stay where he put them, Marc went to work removing Kris’ Under Armour bottoms. Kris cooperated by lifting his hips so Marc could slide them off.  With one last push to Kris’ hands, Marc leaned in to press a wet, sucking kiss to the spot he’d bitten earlier. Kris hissed slightly as Marc lavished attention on the already tender area, but he made no move to stop the goalie from marking his skin. Marc hummed his satisfaction before moving back to Kris’ aching cock.

What came next had been the stuff of Kris’ fantasies for years to come. Despite the fact that Kris had to be rank from practice, Marc had bathed his cock and balls and taint with his tongue. Lapping broadly across his perineum before flicking his balls sharply with the tip of his tongue, Marc had roused him to a fierce hunger then held him teasingly on the edge. Kris’ hands had twitched; he wanted to steer Marc back to the head of his cock, where he’d recently been swirling his tongue around the glans. Marc noticed the movement; he looked up at Kris with a small growl, then proceeded to place a matching hickey on the other thigh as he watched Kris tightly fist his hands back in the comforter.

Satisfied that Kris was staying where he wanted him, Marc had sucked one of his balls into his mouth, getting it dripping wet before doing the same to the other. Kris watched as Marc put two of his own fingers into his mouth, sucking sloppily as he teasingly pushed them in and out of his mouth. When he was satisfied with their lubrication—and Kris was panting from the thought of those sensuous lips wrapped around his cock—Marc reached back to Kris’ hole and tapped them lightly against his pucker. Kris had practically arced off the bed, the sensation lighting him up inside. Marc’s grin was satisfied and cocky as he simultaneously pressed in with one finger and sucked Kris’ cock deep into his mouth.

“Oh! Fuck!” Kris tensed as the dual sensation overwhelmed him and he came, unexpectedly, with explosive force. Marc had swallowed down every bit of his come, slurping wetly at his softening cock until Kris was whining from the overstimulation. “S’te plait, Marc! C’t’assez, arrête! (Please, Marc! It’s enough, stop.)”

Marc had rocked back on heels, wiping his chin ostentatiously and grinning fiercely, pleased that Kris was begging already.

It wouldn’t be the last time by far.

Kris shivered as a loud noise from the locker room drew him out of his reverie. He quickly finished washing and turned off the water, anger having given way to bone-deep exhaustion. He grabbed a towel, running it roughly over his body before wrapping it around his hips. A second towel was scrubbed over his hair, momentarily blocking his view of the bathroom, so he was startled when he overheard a whispered argument between Sid and Geno.

“He’s miserable, Geno. The mating fever has fully set in, and he’s refusing to let anyone touch him.”

“Well, what we going to do? Can’t force him to take pleasure,” Geno hissed back, frustration obvious in his voice. Kris could practically see him running a nervous hand through his hair.

Sid’s voice was equally frustrated. “Maybe if I told him I was going to help him rather than asked?”

“Sid!” Geno’s voice took on an exasperated tone.

“You haven’t seen him, G! He’s just sitting in his nest, arms wrapped around himself like he’s hurting, rocking back and forth.”

“Maybe send WBS kids to him? They’re good friends, maybe he let them help?” Geno suggested.

“Nests are supposed to be private. Even I feel like I’m intruding. I’m not sure he’s going to want a bunch of people tromping through there, no matter how well-intentioned.” Sid’s heavy sigh sounded discouraged.

Geno thought for a moment before suggesting, “Send Olli and Dumo then. They’ve been there before, maybe less invasion of privacy? Tell them just to offer comfort and cuddles. Not force Matt to do anything he not want to do.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sid sounded hesitant, “if they’re willing to help.”

“They will be, but let’s go ask before they leave.” Kris heard them leaving the dressing room.

C’est pas d’mon osti d’faute! (This is not my fucking fault!) Kris reminded his image in the mirror as he ran a quick comb through his hair and decided that was good enough for now. C’est pour le mieux, (This is for the best) he tried again to convince himself again. Dressing rapidly, Kris made his way out of the locker room as quickly as he could.

*****************************

Kris wanted to be surprised when his phone rang an hour later, but he couldn’t honestly manage it.

Resigned to the upcoming lecture, Kris answered the phone. _“Salut, Pétale.”_

_“Salut, mon p’tit rayon d’soleil! (Hello, my little ray of sunshine.)”_

_““How are you Marc?”_

_“Curious. Tell me why I’m calling?”_ Marc’s tone was inquiring.

Kris made a half-laugh, half-snort kind of noise, then said very drily, _“Excuse me? You don’t know why you called me? Are you in concussion protocol?”_

Marc laughed. _“No concussion, but I was told to call you and see how you are doing. That’s all, no details. So tell me, why am I checking up on you? What’s going on, my friend?”_

Kris barely managed to stifle a sigh. _“Sid?”_ he guessed.

 _“And Geno. And Cullen,”_ Flower confirmed.

Kris snorted. _“And Geno didn’t provide details? I find that hard to believe.”_

Flower’s voice was gentle. _“You’re stalling. Now tell me.”_

 _“Shouldn’t you be nesting? Why are you on the phone with me?”_ Kris tried diversion instead.

 _“The desert heat pushes my season back a bit. Or maybe I’m just getting old.”_ Kris could hear a door closing, muting the background noise to nothing, then sounds of Marc shuffling around, probably settling into bed, or maybe his recliner, since it was so much earlier in Vegas.

 _“So, I take it this is about Matt’s nesting season,_ ” Marc posited.

Kris glowered. Goddamn goalie mind tricks! Or maybe just goddamn nosy teammates! He sighed heavily instead of answering.

Marc took that for the affirmative answer it was. _“He finally asked you to nest with him?”_

 _“What do you mean, finally? I was hoping he never would!”_ Kris blurted.

_“Why wouldn’t he ask you, Kris? You’re his number one defenseman. Of course, he was going to ask you. I’m just surprised he waited this long. A bit insulting if you want my honest opinion.”_

_“But I don’t want to nest with him!”_ Kris practically shouted. _“I don’t want to nest with anyone.”_ The “else” went unsaid, but both of them knew it was there.

 _“Ah ...”_ Flower’s tone was soft with understanding.

_“No, you don’t get it, Marc. It hurts when you get left behind! He should be bonding with the young guys, building a rapport with the guys who’ll still be defending him in a couple years. Hell, by the end of this year, I might not even be on the top pair. He shouldn’t waste this on me.”_

_“Oh, Kris.”_ Marc’s voice was just the slightest bit sad.

 _“I have the right to say no,”_ Kris defended himself.

 _“Of course you do,”_ Marc replied immediately. There was a long pause. _“As long as you’re doing it for the right reasons.”_

Kris’ response was a sarcastic snort. _“I’m sure you’ll tell me what those are?”_

_“Nope, you’re the only one who knows that. But I can tell you what the wrong ones are. You shouldn’t pass up this opportunity because you feel disloyal to me. I chose you because you were brilliant, so fierce and passionate, how could I not? When the nesting urge hit, I’d look at you, and you seemed to burn like the light from a hundred suns. I’m pretty sure Matt sees the same thing; he’s watched you, wanted you for years but didn’t feel it was his place.”_

Kris snorted skeptically.

 _“Eh, you doubt, but a goalie knows these things.”_ Marc’s playful tone sobered. _“As much as it hurts to say, you’ll never defend my net again. You’ll be standing firm in front of Matt, doing your absolute best for him, probably for the rest of your career. And even if you’re not on the starting pair, Matt couldn’t ask for a better defender. Yes, it hurts to leave, when the bonds fade,”_ Marc swallowed audibly then continued in a voice that wobbled just a bit. _“But maybe he thinks the joy is worth the pain. He knows how valuable you are and how lucky he is to have you. And I can’t begrudge him that.”_

Kris stared silently at the wall in front of him, blinking rapidly.

 _“Well, maybe just a little bit.”_ Marc’s grin carried over the air waves loud and clear. _“Goalies are possessive creatures.”_

Kris snorted, amused despite himself. _“I’m not part of your hoard, Marc.”_

_“You’ll always be a little bit mine.”_

Kris’ breath caught, but he forced a grin, knowing Marc would hear it. _“Good night, you possessive fuck!”_

_“Good night, mon trésor (my treasure).”_

That night before bed, Kris couldn’t resist the urge to text Flower.

_“If I’m the ‘light of a hundred suns’ to nesting goalies, what the hell is Sid?”_

He laughed out loud when he woke to Flower’s answering text, _“Eh, maybe 100 watt bulb.”_

*****************************

Kris barely took time to grab a shower and a bagel before he was heading for the rink. PPG Paints Arena was quiet this early in the morning. It was too early for fans and tours and classes, so only the behind-the-scenes folks were around; well, the behind-the-scenes folks and Sid and Tristan, who seemed to be hovering near the nesting box, obviously trying to decide if they should go in.

They seemed to turn as one when they heard him approach, the conversation ceasing immediately.

“Kris,” Sid’s voice was wary. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to check on Matt.”

Sid’s spine stiffened, and his voice took on its characteristic media blandness.

“He’s fine, Kris. Thanks for checking in.”

Kris cocked an eyebrow, disbelief radiating from every pore. “Riii-ght. So, you and Tris are just standing out here because ...”

“Listen, Kris,” Sid crossed his arms over his chest and planted himself more squarely between Kris and the door.  “You’ve made your decision and that’s fine, but it means this doesn’t concern you any longer.”

“Did he choose someone else?” He looked back and forth between Sid and Tristan but neither seemed willing to answer. “Did he at least let someone spend the night with him?” Sid frowned and Tristan shook his head ever so slightly “no.”  

“Well, then, you’d probably better let me in.”

Sid stepped forward, forcing Kris to take a step back. “Now listen up, Kris, if you’re just here to comfort him, he’s probably better off without you.  He needs to nest, to mate and if...”

“No!” Kris cut him off sharply before continuing in calmer tones. “I’m here because our starting goalie chose me, because he wanted to spend his nesting period with me.”

“Kris, I’m not sure if this is a good idea. Yesterday you were refusing and now all of a sudden …” Sid continued to talk but Tristan caught Kris’ eyes and held them, seemingly searching for something.

Kris met his stare, unflinching.

“I’ll take good care of him.”

“What? What are you …” Sid stumbled to a halt when he realized no one was listening to him.

Tristan held his gaze for another long moment before nodding once and slipping behind Sid to unlock the door to the nesting box.

“It will lock behind you,” he told Kris softly as he pushed the door open ever so slightly.

Kris looked at Sid.

“I’ll take care of him,” he promised.

Sid glared but eventually stepped aside. “See that you do.”  

As the lock clicked behind him, Kris surveyed the softly lit nesting room. It was very different from the way he remembered it with Marc; instead of the simple black and gold color scheme, Matt’s nest was a riot of colors. Pillows in bright jewel tones and a wide array of fabrics spilled over and off the bed, which was covered in a puffy emerald green silk duvet. The ledge above the bed, usually filled with nesting gifts from partners past, was oddly empty. Kris remembered Marc-Andre’s collection of silly little stuffed penguins, a tradition started when Sid gifted one to Marc after their first nesting. Where were Matt’s gifts? Had no one thought to thank him for the honor and pleasure he’d given them? Kris frowned, surely even the youngest call-ups knew they needed to say thank you.

As Kris continued to look around he noticed the small fridge — no doubt stocked with beverages and high-calorie snacks — a pillow-covered loveseat, a small armoire, the door to the en suite bathroom and nothing else. Where the hell was Matt? Kris frowned and surveyed the room more carefully. There was a pile of clothes heaped half-on, half-off the love seat. The bathroom door was closed, but there was no light coming from under the door. Could Matt have fallen or gotten sick in there and then not been able to get the lights? Kris started toward the door to check when a small movement in the mound of pillows on the bed caught his attention.

“Matt? Everything okay?” Kris asked softly as he approached the bed. From under the mound of blankets and pillows, Matt blinked at him lifelessly. Kris rearranged some pillows so that he could see Matt more clearly. What he saw alarmed him. Matt’s face was pale, his thin lips almost blue. His eyes were dull, and he seemed to be fighting to keep them open. His hair was lank against the pillow. Kris reached out to place a hand on Matt’s forehead. Matt moved his head away restlessly, but Kris persisted until he was sure Matt wasn’t running a fever.

“Hey, Matty, I think something is seriously wrong here. You should be running warm with your nesting fever but instead, I think you’re running a little cool. I think I should get a doctor.”

Matt’s eyes flew open and he shook his head no against the pillows.

“Okay. You don’t want to me to get a doctor,” Kris said. Matt nodded his agreement.

“But shouldn’t you be running hot?” Matt shrugged and looked away. Kris frowned. “So why are you so cold?” Matt continued to stare at nothing. “C’mon, Matty, I’m worried. Give me some hint here about how to take care of you or I’m going to get the doctor.”

Matt shivered, a full-body tremor, and Kris tucked the covers up under his chin.

“No mate.” His voice was breathy and it sounded as if each word was being wrenched from him. “Opposite of heat.” He shivered again and closed his eyes; those few words seeming to have exhausted him.

“Opposite of heat? Cold? You’re experiencing a freeze? A chill?” Kris puzzled aloud. Kris looked around for more blankets, but everything that could provide heat seemed to already be on the bed. “Okay, well, you’ve got a partner now that I’m here. Maybe if I shared body heat? Warmed you up a bit?” Matt seemed to have fallen into a restless sleep, racked by periodic shivers.

Kris contemplated the younger man for a moment, hoping he wasn’t overstepping too much before stripping down to his shorts and sliding under the mountain of blankets and pillows next to him. “Oh, fuck! You’re cold. It’s like cuddling an ice cube.” Despite his grumbling, Kris slid closer, gently manhandling the goalie until Matt was lying on his side with Kris spooned tightly behind him. He ran his hands briskly over Matt’s arms and chest trying to bring some heat to his icy body.

Kris continued to snuggle and pet Matt, but half an hour later, Matt was still cold and Kris was sweltering under all the blankets. Kris raised up on an elbow so he could better see Matt’s face.  He patted the goalie’s bearded cheek gently until he opened his eyes. “Okay, Matt, this doesn’t seem to be working. I need some direction here on how to help you.”

At first it seemed like he wouldn’t get any response from the younger man, but finally, Kris felt Matt’s hand brush his under the covers. He seemed to be pushing it downward so Kris let him guide their hands down to Matt’s soft dick. He looked at Matt sharply when Matt’s hand dropped away.

“Mon ami …”

Kris halted, not sure what to say or even exactly what Matt was asking for.

“Need to,” a whispery voice answered him, “restart heat.”

“You need to restart your heat?” Kris asked, not sure he’d heard correctly. Matt nodded once.  “And you do that,” Kris stroked Matt’s cock softly, “with a hand job?” He was still unsure he understood things correctly.

“Orgasm,” Matt confirmed as he sagged listlessly back against Kris, his eyes falling closed.

“Right. Okay. I,” Kris sucked in a deep, grounding breath. “I got this.”  He wasn’t sure who he was reassuring, but Matt seemed oblivious.

He cupped his hand softly over Matt’s groin, rubbing a thumb lightly over the head of his cock.  Matt didn’t react at all. Kris firmed his grip around Matt’s dick and massaged the soft organ with gentle strokes. A faint twitch was his only response. Kris traced a light finger over Matt’s soft balls, putting slight pressure on the sensitive area behind them, still no response from Matt.

“Pauvre gars! T’as besoin de plus qu’une main, en? (Poor baby. You need more than a hand don’t you.)” Kris gently rolled Matt onto his back. Peeling back the covers would be the easiest way to get to Matt, but Kris didn’t want to expose him to the chill of the room, even for a good cause. Taking a last big breath of the cool, fresh air, Kris slid down, under the covers, curling his legs and twisting until Matt’s cock was in front of his face.

He grasped both of Matt’s bony hips in his hands before sucking Matt’s soft dick into his mouth.  The reaction was electric as Matt seemed to spasm, reflexively trying to curl into and around the heat; only Kris’ hands kept him firmly grounded. Kris pulled back just far enough to purr, “Mmm, c’est mieux (Mmm, better),” before he sucked the growing organ back in, simply holding it in the wet heat of his mouth, offering the occasional soft stroke of his tongue on the sensitive veined underside.

Matt’s cock warmed and lengthened, filling his mouth until Kris had to pull back slightly.  Everything about the starting goalie was long and lean, and his cock was no exception. The air beneath the covers was hot and stifling; the musky scent of Matt’s sweat filling the air, but Kris found himself unexpectedly turned on by the earthy aroma, the tangy taste of sweat and salt bitter on his tongue. He could feel his own scalp prickling with heat and sweat trickling down his temple as he continued to suck and lick at Matt’s cock.

At Matt’s soft groan, more felt than heard through the muffling layers of bedding, Kris pulled back enough just to suck on the glans, teasing drops of pre-come out with swirls of his tongue then sucking them down as he bobbed his head to take Matt’s cock more fully into his mouth.

“Doing so good for me, Matty,” Kris murmured after he pulled back. He continued to use his mouth and tongue, laving Matt’s cock with focused attention. He released one of Matt’s hips so that he’d have a hand free to toy with the surprisingly large balls now covered with a mess of spit and sweat from the heat Kris was generating under the covers.

“J’ai toujours su que les gardiens avaient plus de couilles que les autres joueurs. (I always knew goalies had bigger balls than your average hockey player),” Kris muttered the whimsical thought before pressing a kiss to the soft sack. Matt shivered violently, but this time Kris was pretty sure it wasn’t from chills as he felt the sack go taut and the balls pull up tight.

“Viens pour moi, Matt. (Come for me, Matt.)” Kris drew the head of Matt’s cock back into his mouth, sucking hard while his hand settled on the shaft of Matt’s cock and started a rapid rhythm of strokes. Matt’s groan this time was clearly audible. His hips rocked, pushing into Kris’ hand and mouth. He came with a harsh groan, his whole body seeming to pulse with heat as he exploded into Kris’ mouth. Kris slurped and swallowed, the bitter release tangy on his tongue.  He continued to let Matt’s spent cock rest lightly in his mouth until Matt’s hand in his hair pulled him off.

Taking that as his cue, Kris shifted, moving up and out from under the covers. Face wet from perspiration and other fluids, Kris flopped back against the pillows, taking several deep breaths of fresh air before turning enough to look at Matt. He was pleased to see Matt’s hazel eyes staring back at him with an awareness of the situation he’d previously been lacking.

“Better?” Kris asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer. Matt nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Kris’.

“Good.” Kris was content to lie there and let Matt look his fill. He was hot and sweaty and they both definitely needed showers sooner rather than later, but his body was buzzing with a weird sense of completion and satisfaction, despite the fact that he hadn’t come. As he drifted in a relaxed state halfway between awake and dreaming, he thought he heard a deep, rumbly purr emanating from Matt’s chest.

Finally, Kris wrinkled his nose, sniffing the air conspicuously. “I don’t know about you, but I think it is past time for showers.”

Matt hummed softly but didn’t protest when Kris helped him out of the bed and into the bathroom. Kris busied himself starting the shower and putting towels in the warmer while Matt used the facilities and brushed his teeth.

The shower was a large two-person shower with enough jets and settings to launch rockets.  Kris kept it simple, turning on the big overhead rain heads, figuring that would be the gentlest if Matt’s skin was still sensitive. Once the goalie was settled under the light downpour, Kris reached for the sponge, only to find Matt had gotten there first. He looked inquiringly at Matt.

“Hey, Matty, don’t you want me to take care of you?”

When he reached for the sponge, Matt drew it away again.

Kris held up his hands and backed off. “Okay, Matt, whatever you want.”

Matt grabbed some spicy-smelling shower gel and quickly worked up a rich lather. With slow strokes, he started washing Kris’ chest. First lifting and holding each arm so that he could lather from shoulder to fingertip, then running the sponge across the dark swirls of hair that decorated each pec and down and over his well-defined abs. Kneeling, Matt gently washed Kris’ soft cock, smiling as it stirred under his touch. Even mostly soft it was easy to see that Kris was a well-endowed man and Matt obviously appreciated that fact, judging by the lusty smile he flashed Kris. Long fingers scratched lightly through the nest of dark pubes, before carefully cleaning his balls and between his thighs. But Matt didn’t linger; he washed each calf and Kris’ feet before turning him gently and then working his way back up. Matt gave extra attention to his shoulders and neck, dropping the sponge to knead tight muscles.

When Kris was loose and relaxed, Matt grabbed a bottle of shampoo and massaged some of it gently into Kris’ scalp. Kris noted that it smelled a lot like his own brand of designer shampoo before he was distracted by long, callused fingers working the foam through his hair. Gently and methodically, Matt worked lather from scalp to ends. Kris couldn’t stop the soft moan of pleasure from escaping him; he loved having his hair washed. He felt more than heard Matt’s satisfied purr as Kris melted under his ministrations.

Matt grabbed a detachable shower head to rinse the shampoo out of Kris’ hair, careful to shield Kris’ eyes and ears from the spray. Next he grabbed a bottle of conditioner — definitely Kris’ brand — and applied that, running his fingers through Kris’ locks to make sure it was spread evenly.

By this time Kris was nearly boneless from pleasure and he allowed Matt to pull him back against his chest, resting his head against the goalie’s shoulder. Kris’ eyes fell closed as he relaxed and enjoyed the heat of the water. Matt purred softly in his ear, his beard scratchy against Kris’ jaw and neck. His hands roamed Kris’ chest, toying with his nipples then following the trail of soft dark hair lower before pausing to trace faint patterns just below his belly button. One long arm wrapped around Kris’ chest, locking his arms against his body, holding him close and tight.

Kris smelled shower gel again then Matt’s other hand was on his cock — slick and hot and perfect.

“Ahhh.” Kris thrashed in Matt’s grasp but he was truly caught and held. Only his hips had room to move and he shoved into the tight, slick grip, unable to control the urge to thrust. “Fuck, Matt. Ça fait du bien, ça! (That’s good!)”

Matt let him rut into his hand until Kris was a stroke or two away from coming then unexpectedly loosened his grip.

“Matt!” Kris squirmed trying to get a hand free but Matt held him tightly.

“Mine now.” The voice was unexpectedly deep and growly, and Kris felt a shiver slither down his spine. The slender hand wrapped around his cock and started stroking again, demanding, dragging Kris’ release from him.

“Come!” Matt growled and bit hard into the join between neck and shoulder.

The unexpected but not unwelcome pain had Kris whimpering helplessly as he came, shooting white streaks over Matt’s hand. He sagged into Matt’s arms as he finished, weak in the knees from the strength of his orgasm. Matt held him easily, cradling him protectively until he could stand on his own again.

Matt rinsed his hand then proceeded to wash the conditioner out of Kris’ hair like he hadn’t been interrupted at all. Kris shuddered and twitched, his whole body — scalp included — feeling oversensitive and jittery. Matt finally stationed him under the rainfall shower head while he quickly and efficiently washed his own hair and body.

When they finally got out, Matt grabbed a heated towel to wrap around his own hips, then another that he used to gently pat Kris dry. Kris hissed as the towel scrapped over the bite mark on his neck. “What is it with goalies and biting, huh?”

“Mine.” Matt positively smirked, oozing satisfaction as he kissed the bite mark gently.

“I’m not a fucking chew toy,” Kris groused, ignoring the way his chest tightened at the claim.

Matt’s only answer was to grab another towel and ruffle Kris’ hair madly.

*****************************

The rest of Matt’s nesting period passed in a haze of sex and snuggles. Kris found himself struggling to remember whether Marc had been this clingy in between their bouts of sex but finally decided it was something unique to Matt.

In fact, a lot of things about Matt’s nesting period were not as Kris expected. Ever since the shower when Kris initially had tried to take care of Matt, he’d been thoroughly turned down. Matt seemed intent on taking care of _him_. Bringing him snacks, changing the bedding, drawing him a bath; it went against everything Kris though he knew about nesting goalies. In bed, Matt spent hours learning exactly what Kris liked, what touches turned him on the most; then he used that ruthlessly to keep Kris on the edge of coming, teasing him to the brink and back so many times Kris lost count. When Matt finally permitted him to come, it was more powerful and all-consuming than Kris ever could have imagined; it felt like death and rebirth and it left him a quivering mass of exposed nerves. Matt held him tenderly through the aftershocks, crooning softly as he gently cleaned Kris up and cuddled him close as he fell into a deep sleep.

When he finally woke, it was to see Matt lying next to him, watching him.

“Good morning?” Kris offered, not sure exactly what time or for that fact even what day it was.

Matt smiled back, grin crooked and boyish. “Good afternoon, actually.”

Kris rolled over to better see Matt’s face. “Sainte Viarge! (Holy Virgin!) You spoke. Does that mean your nesting period is over?”

Matt hummed a small sound of agreement then leaned slowly in to kiss Kris. Kris’ lips parted half in response, half in shock when he realized it was the first time Matt had kissed him.  Despite the fact that it was their first, Matt kissed him boldly, taking control of the kiss and coaxing him to play as their lips and tongues dueled and teased. When Matt finally pulled back, they were both flushed and panting slightly.

Matt pushed the covers back before sitting up and straddling Kris’ thighs. He slowly and deliberately leaned forward just enough to rake his fingernails down Kris’ chest and abs, making goosebumps shiver down Kris’ neck and arms and causing him to arch into the sensation. Matt smiled knowingly then pressed in for another quick kiss before shifting his lips to the now livid bite mark on Kris’ shoulder. Kris felt himself getting hard as Matt rocked against him with every suck and pull of his lips.

As nails scraped down his ribs, Kris’ hands flew up to grab the slender goalie’s surprisingly plush ass. Matt rocked back into his hands, which Kris figured was a good as an invitation. He gripped strongly, kneading Matt’s cheeks rhythmically, which in turn rocked their growing erections together. The friction felt wonderful, and Kris began to thrust harder.

Matt’s mouth drifted lower, leaving a series of stinging kisses in his wake as he moved on to play with Kris’ nipples. The nibbles, pinches and kisses grew in intensity until Kris was helpless to do anything but moan and writhe under Matt’s fingers and lips.

Just when Kris thought he might be able to come from nothing more than the friction, Matt sat back, a smug grin spreading across his face as he grabbed the bottle of lube sitting on the empty ledge above the bed. He drizzled it liberally over Kris’ cock, smirking when the cold caused him to hiss. Matt easily wrapped his long fingers around both their cocks and began to stroke. Their eyes locked and held as Matt’s grip pushed them closer and closer to orgasm.

Unable to bear the intimacy of that intense hazel stare, Kris closed his eyes and just let himself feel. Matt’s cock was like hot silk against his own, the soft skin a sharp contrast to his callused hand. With every other stroke, Matt ran his thumb over the heads of their cocks, smearing pre-come between them. Kris couldn’t help but groan when Matt added a small wrist twist to the end of every pass; he could feel his balls drawing tight.

A sharp pinch to his nipple had his eyes flying open. Matt’s gaze was fierce when it met his. “Mine!” The word was a declaration and a pledge, and Kris had barely a moment to register it before he was coming in a flash of liquid heat. Matt’s hand continued to piston, milking the last of Kris’ orgasm from him before he tensed all over and his own come splashed hot and wet on Kris’ stomach, adding to the sticky mess pooling there. With a final, satisfied groan, Matt toppled to the side and on to the bed.

Kris turned his head on the pillow just enough to watch the goalie regaining his breath and composure.

“Really? Was it really necessary to mark me? Again,” Kris grumbled.

Matt’s grin lit his face, transforming its plainness into something joyous and magnetic. “Yep.” He popped the ‘p’ slightly.

Kris rolled his eyes, before his expression sobered. He stared at Matt with an inscrutable expression on his face. "So why now?"

Matt's expression closed, becoming cautious. There was a long pause and Kris was beginning to wonder if maybe Matt wasn't quite as verbal as he'd seemed. "You weren't ready."

Kris felt himself freeze.

The need for oxygen finally forced Kris to inhale and he forced himself to relax as he exhaled slowly. Matt watched him until he was breathing more or less regularly again. "My turn. So, what changed your mind?" Matt asked.

A dozen different answers flickered through Kris' mind. "I guess," he said slowly, as his lips curled into a faint smile, "I was finally ready."

Kris could feel his smile grow in response to the grin blossoming on Matt's face.

“Dibs on first shower.” Matt rolled out of bed and scampered into the bathroom, leaving Kris lying there covered in their congealing come.

“Asshole!” Kris shouted as he followed, hot on Matt’s heels. “You’re just lucky it’s a two-person shower!”

Fresh and clean from the shower, Matt started tidying the room. Dirty linens and used towels went in a basket for later laundering. Fresh sheets and a new sapphire blue duvet were taken from the armoire and used to make the bed. When Kris started to pick up decorative pillows and toss them on the bed, Matt growled, startling him.

“Go sit down or something,” Matt gestured to the loveseat. “I’ve got this.” He picked up the pillows, fluffing each one before arranging it carefully on the bed. As Kris leaned against the doorway into the bathroom, watching the production, a thought occurred to him.

“Your ledge is empty. Where are your nesting gifts, Matt?”

Matt looked up from where he was arranging the pillows. “Why? Afraid I didn’t deserve any?” Matt’s voice sounded oddly harsh.

“No,” Kris drawled slowly, “if you treated them anything like you’ve treated me, you definitely deserved them.” Kris noticed a hint of a smile as Matt went back to arranging his nest.

“Well, then maybe they just didn’t fit,” Matt muttered.

Nesting gifts were almost always kept _in the nest_. Kris looked around the small room. There were no large or bulky items; the only thing there of any mass was the mountain of pillows that Matt tended to with such care.

He watched thoughtfully as Matt organized his hoard. There were cushions of all shapes and sizes; some were simple squares, but Kris saw one in the shape of a puck and another shaped like a dragon. The fabrics and prints ranged widely as well; Kris saw velvet and silk and fur as well as tiger stripes and cartoon characters. It was a truly an eclectic collection. Kris smiled to himself.

He could work with that.

*****************************

All in all, they’d missed three days to Matt’s nesting. The team had just gotten back from a nasty loss to Nashville, and they were delighted to have their starters back in the lineup. Kris was late getting to practice, and everyone was just about dressed and ready to hit the ice. He endured the chirps good-naturedly as he rushed to pull on his gear. Catching Matt’s eye, he nodded once, the barest hint of a smile curling the corner of his mouth. A tiny pulse of warmth echoed it along their bond.

A soft nudge drew his attention to Sid.

“I take it things went well?” His voice managed to convey concern and certainty at the same time, and Kris couldn’t help rolling his eyes at his captain.

“Of course, Sid,” Kris assured him.

“Good,” Sid’s smile was smugly pleased. “Three minutes or you’ll be skating suicides,” he tossed over his shoulder as he followed the team out of the dressing room. Kris swore but threw the rest of his gear on with record speed, stopping just long enough to drop a gift-wrapped box in Matt’s locker before joining his teammates on the ice.

Practice went well, maybe even extraordinarily well. Kris felt the bond like soft, gold string connecting him to Matt. It told him when to shift to cover Matt’s blind spots and when to pull back defensively. He sometimes got a sense of where a puck might squirt out of a scramble and he thought, with practice, that little bit of extra warning might give him an edge at retrieving them. It felt solid and warm and … comforting, in the back of his mind.

The team trooped back into the locker room, tired from a hard practice but still laughing and teasing and catching up on each other’s weekend plans. Kris watched surreptitiously as Matt started removing his gear and setting it in his locker. He watched as the goalie finally noticed the box, taking in its simple white wrapping with a bright yellow ribbon wound around it and tied in a bow.

Matt looked over and cocked his head inquisitively. Usually nesting gifts were private, exchanged in a quiet moment between the partners. Kris shrugged and gave a small nod, and Matt tugged the bow apart and tore open the wrapping.

When he lifted the lid Matt found a note lying on a bed of tissue paper. “ _I have it from a very reliable source that I ‘burn like the light of a hundred suns’ in the eyes of nesting goalies.  Sounds a little gaudy to me but this seemed fitting._ ” As Matt peeled back the tissue paper, he burst into laughter, a rich belly laugh that silenced the rest of the room.

“Hey, man is it your birthday or something?” Jake Guenzel gestured to the box. “Who’s it from? What’d you get?”

“Not my birthday,” Matt smiled as he pulled the small, sequin-encrusted pillow from the box. Every inch of it was covered with tiny gold sequins and shiny gold beads, and it flashed and caught the light at every turn. “But still a gift.”

 


End file.
